Beyond Empty Lands
by Piccolo is green
Summary: He won't be broken, and neither will she. They have that in common, at least. Bulma/Vegeta, AU drabble-fic.
1. Chapter 1: Vegeta

**Vegeta **

_Year 749_

He is smirking, because the little Koribian's tits felt as good as they looked. She's the third girl he's fucked since turning seventeen some six months before, and for the first time in a long time he has something to look forward to. He'll see her again after this year-long solitary mission, and he'll fuck her long and hard and enjoy every minute of it.

He is halfway to the pod station when he first hears the screams. As he gets closer to his destination he begins to make out words: '_Fuck you_' and '_Fuck Frieza_' seem to be the most common, and he finds himself admiring the courage, if not the stupidity, of whoever owns the feminine voice that echoes down the halls.

They've clearly just dragged whoever-she-is in. As he reaches his pod he gets a glimpse of them all two bays over- four uniformed soldiers all working to restrain the single thrashing weakling in the middle of the group. Zarbon is overseeing it all, yelling "Do _not_ break her!" over and over again, and the word 'mastertech' is thrown about by one or two bystanders. He catches a glimpse of bright blue hair and is tempted to go over to get a better look, but thinks twice about it. He is the Prince of Saiyans and some weak crying female is not worthy of his attention.

He climbs into his ship and tells himself that he is _not_ avoiding another run-in with Zarbon.


	2. Chapter 2: Bulma

**Disclaimer: Woops! I totally forgot about this for chapter 1... I don't own Dragonball Z.**

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**Bulma **

_Year 750_

She has stopped looking at herself in the mirror. A year on this ship has left her looking sallow and sickly. The standard tech clothing consists of nothing more than wide shoulder guards and a baggy white robe that covers her from the neck down. It makes her feel like shit, but at least the men here don't look at her like they used to.

She knows that it's partly to do with her hair. She's gone to great lengths to avoid Zarbon since he punished her for talking back. She runs her hand self-consciously over the short prickly fuzz that covers her scalp and wants to scream and cry in frustration. What pisses her off the most is that the bastard knew _exactly_ how to get to her. Every time she sees her reflection she remembers the warmth of his breath on her freshly bare neck, the way he'd held all of those severed blue locks in front of her while whispering "Now who has the prettiest hair of all?" The fucked up, self-obsessed _bastard_.

At least she has science. Now, like every day, she falls into her routine, getting lost in the data on her screen, in the blueprints for various devices. She finds joy in the feel of a tool in her hand, in seeing a piece of machinery come together. So far she has focused on making the medical equipment- regeneration tanks, life support systems, surgical machinery- more efficient. She avoids the question that routinely pops into her head- what will she do when she is asked to make weapons and torture devices?

She is terribly afraid of the answer.


	3. Chapter 3: Vegeta

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z. I'm sorry about that.**

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**Vegeta**

_Year 750_

It's been a week since he returned to the main ship, but he is yet to see the Koribian girl. It puts him in a foul mood- there are not many female soldiers on board to begin with, and none with a body like hers. That body has been on his mind many times in the past year, and he is itching to put what he has imagined into practice.

He doesn't enquire about her whereabouts, and in the end, he doesn't have to. Though he told no one about the tryst, Cui somehow knows, and takes every opportunity to rub that knowledge in his face during their less-than-friendly spar on the training deck.

"I bet she was a good fuck!" The amphibian bastard has him pinned face-down on the floor, and he can't reply. He swipes at Cui with his tail, but the bastard's too quick and he ends up thrown against the back wall instead.

"Shit, you're a weakling, Vegeta," Cui hisses, and his rubber lips pull back in a mocking smile. "No wonder she offed herself when she found out she was carrying your whelp. No one wants another fucking monkey running around here, after all."

Cui has always talked too much. He aims for the purple freak's mouth, and manages to burn off half of the bastard's face before he is hit hard in the gut, and the world fades away.

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A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! This chapter is a short one, but the next will be a bit longer once I'm done editing it :)


	4. Chapter 4: Bulma

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

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**Bulma**

_Year 750_

She strides quickly through the corridors, picking the path that soldiers frequent the least. When she climbs the stairwell leading onto the main deck, however, it becomes impossible to avoid Frieza's mercenaries. She keeps her head down and moves past them wordlessly, and the aliens- all shapes and forms and colours- ignore her.

It is a relief when she steps into the med bay. The door hisses closed behind her, and she is alone once more.

The job she's been assigned is another typical one. It seems that the muscle-bound morons on this ship are all too dense to open a regen tank properly. Every week she tends to at least twenty repair jobs in any of the fifty med bays scattered around the ship. When it's the glass panels on a tank that need repair she has to call in for assistance, which she hates, because it means dealing with the creepy Corshinan guy that has to sign off on the various equipment kept in storage in the bowels of the ship. Thankfully, it's only the control pad that's been messed with this time, and it's something she can easily manage herself.

The work is relatively simple, and it gives her time to think as she kneels on the floor, her fingers deftly reconnecting wires and replacing microchips. As of late she's begun a torturous game, replaying all of her favourite pop songs from Earth in her head as she works. It hurts to remember them and the rest of her old life, but it would hurt her more to forget. She's seen the way some of the other techs act; they're empty shells, mere shadows of the people they used to be. She's determined not to become one of them.

Her reverie is broken by the hiss of the door, and two huge soldiers wander in, the larger one carrying what she assumes is their injured comrade in their arms. She looks away quickly, but not quick enough to miss the blood pooling on the floor. That, accompanied with the overpowering stench of male sweat, makes her feel a little sick.

They don't notice her, preoccupied as they are with getting their bleeding buddy into the other tank in the room. She risks another glance at them and finds that they've already stripped the unconscious person and put the slumped body in the tank.

They're all of the same race- that much she can tell, despite the fact that one is bald while the other two vary in degrees of hairiness. She's seen the two conscious ones around the ship before, but she doesn't know what they are. They're humanoid, though, and something about the smaller of the two- who still stands around seven feet tall- seems unnervingly familiar.

Perhaps they feel her eyes staring at their backs, because both men turn suddenly to face her. Their dark eyes are striking in their intensity, and their expressions are mean. But the larger, bald one snorts and says "It's just a tech," and they both relax and turn away and she knows she is safe for now. She keeps her eyes focused on her work until she hears the door to the med bay hiss open again and their heavy footsteps leaving, the words '_Don't know why he took on Cui…_' carrying back down the hallway. She sighs in relief.

When her work is complete she cannot help glancing into the murky green fluids of the tank in use. She blushes when she sees that _yes_, this third alien is also _very_ male, and does her best not to stare at his nether regions after that.

He has been submerged in the tank for less than an hour, but already his wounds are almost healed. She knows she's playing with fire, endangering herself by lingering in a med bay so often used by soldiers, but the soft humming of the regen tank is calming, and she is mesmerized by the boy inside.

She realises now that they must be of a similar age, and she wonders why she hasn't seen him around before. She knows he must be dangerous, but in his current state he seems harmless. He is thin, but muscular, and his face is handsome, with high cheekbones and full lips and a widow's peak that she finds oddly attractive.

But it is the tail that truly captures her attention. It is brown and furry, and she's met a boy with one like that before. It doesn't make sense to categorize Goku with these alien men, but somehow she knows it's true. He had to have been one of them.

She leaves the room then, moving quickly down the corridors and stairwells once more, pondering just how the boy she once knew could fit into the equation. She remembers Goku alive, laughing at her from across a campfire, and then she remembers him dead, his eyes staring blankly up at nothing. She passes another tech in the hall, whose eyes still see yet stare with the same blankness of the dead, and she vows to herself that she will _never_ forget who she is.

She is _alive_, though she is trapped in this hellhole flying saucer.

She still dreams of freedom.


	5. Chapter 5: Vegeta

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

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**Vegeta**

_Year 750_

He lies awake, listening to the restless noise of his subordinates as they sleep. Their quarters are hardly big enough to fit three grown Saiyans, but it is all they will ever have on this ship.

He is filled with a bitterness that eats at his insides. He is the Prince of all Saiyans, and yet he is nothing more than a glorified slave.

His own dreams haunt him, weaving false tales of Saiyan might and victory and freedom that only ever disappoint him. He dreams of his father's death often, though he never witnessed it.

He cannot remember his mother's face.

All these thoughts race around in his head until they blur together. He is exhausted, but sleep evades him. The night carries on, and the snores of his only subjects surround him.

He is trapped. He never had a chance. He never had a choice. Frieza toys with him constantly. Frieza killed the Koribian, he is sure. He is paranoid. He is…

"… _she was carrying your whelp."_ They're Cui's words, but it is Frieza's voice he hears. Whether it is true or not, Frieza has succeeded once again. It's getting to him.

He longs for sleep, and it never comes.


	6. Chapter 6: Bulma

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

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**Bulma**

_Year 751_

It's not hard to pack; she has very little in terms of belongings, anyway. Her small amount of clothes- a week's worth of white underwear and tech robes- fits neatly into a single bag. She tucks it under her arm and takes a look around the tiny room that has been her only refuge in the past eighteen months.

_Toiletries_. Remembering, she steps slowly through the small gap between the wall and the bed, careful not to scrape her shins on the metal edges of the cot as she makes her way into the basic bathroom. Toothbrush, toothpaste and tampons go from the top cabinet shelf to the bag. She hesitates, and then picks up the comb that's sat untouched for nearly six months. It goes in the bag, too.

She looks in the mirror, and someone she hardly recognizes stares out at her. This person is too thin; her cheekbones jut out in a way that isn't at all flattering. There are dark circles around her eyes. Her blue hair- only two inches long- is messy and unattractive.

She looks again, her eyes narrowing critically. She bites her bottom lip, and then her top one, until they are a rich pink. She squeezes her cheeks and watches as the colour floods into them. She takes her comb, brushes her hair and makes it sit in a way that looks right.

She's still wearing the shapeless tech uniform. She grabs a bunch of white fabric at the waist, pulls it behind her until her figure is visible beneath the cloth. She's grown since she was taken from Earth; her breasts are full and her hips are wide, and with the robe pulled back like this it almost looks good, like some exotic Egyptian gown with the wide neckpiece and shoulder guards jutting out in navy blue and brown.

She feels attractive.

She lets the fabric go and it falls back into place, becoming a shapeless curtain around her once more. But she feels better, like she's remembered something important. She looks into the mirror and thinks _That's me_.

She leaves the small room behind, bag in hand. Everyone on board is departing here, and she falls into line amongst the other techs and medical personnel. They shuffle slowly down flights of stairs until they reach the bottom level. There's a bright light at the end of the corridor, and for the first time in so long she feels a breeze on her skin as air whistles through the open door.

She steps down the ramp, drinking in the sight of the planet around her. It's brown and grey and ugly, but there is _dirt_ under her boots and it feels _so good_. She waits in line with the others until it is her turn to be called by a low-lever soldier. Stepping forward, she gives him her outstretched arm. He's rough, and she winces as he twists her arm over, moving a small scanning device back and forth over the inside of her elbow. It beeps as it picks up the microchip embedded under her skin, and she watches as her information is relayed to him through his green scouter screen.

"Report to lab 359," he grunts, and she is shoved towards the milling crowd of techs. Most soldiers from the ship have already moved on, and she spots only a few in the distance.

She looks around once more, taking in details this time. The huge skyscrapers before her are alien in design, bulbous things in pink and white. They stretch towards a sky shrouded in grey cloud, blocking much of the natural light so it is as if the whole world is covered by shadows.

She's been told she'll be based here on Frieza 71 for at least a year. Frieza himself will only stay on the planet for a week. After that, many of the techs and soldiers and servants- including Zarbon- will leave with him again. That in itself is a relief.

She steps forward, and though she is concerned about her future, she is thankful to leave the ship behind.


	7. Chapter 7: Vegeta

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**A/N: **Just a warning that there is violence in this chapter. Thanks to those who leave a review, I really appreciate it.

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**Vegeta**

_Year 753_

He has been at death's door many times in his twenty one years, and he no longer fears this feeling. He knows, even as the thrash of Frieza's tail tears into his flesh, that he will soon be immersed in healing fluid, for there is a med bay only two doors down on the ship's main deck.

He knows that this beating will be worth it, for all his suffering at Frieza's hands will ultimately lead to the bastard's demise. Saiyans grow stronger with every near death experience, and so he grits his teeth through the pain, knowing that every hit he takes brings him closer to becoming the Legendary.

He does his best to endure without sacrificing his pride. After every fall he gets back up again, and when his legs no longer move under him he still glares defiantly as if his body is not broken.

Another kick to the gut has him vomiting blood, but he grins through his red-stained teeth, because he's spewed on Frieza's feet, and will take that as a victory. He laughs and receives a blow to the head that leaves him seeing nothing but darkness. He hears Frieza's voice ordering Nappa, though it seems so very far away.

His vision returns as Nappa carries him out of Frieza's throne room. They pass through the adjoining antechamber, and his gaze falls upon a woman. Her bright blue eyes are wide with shock as she watches him. He flashes a red manic smile; a warning that she may be next. Nappa turns the corner, and she's gone.


	8. Chapter 8: Bulma

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

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**Bulma**

_Year 753_

She can't stand to be back in her old room – the same room she was given when she was first taken from Earth – and so she opts to eat her dinner in the empty lab. There seems to be far less techs on board this time, and it makes her nervous. She wishes, fervently, that she was back on Frieza 71, sitting underneath the overcast sky rather than in this darkened room.

She stirs the gruel around on her plate, picking up spoonfuls of the lumpy goo and dropping them back into the mixture. She has no appetite tonight and is certain she can't stomach the stuff after all she's seen in the day.

Plate set to the side, she leans her head against the window beside her, staring out at the blackness of space. She is exhausted, both physically and emotionally. She feels sick, feels the stress choking her from the inside, the fear wrapping around her very core. She was so numb the first time she was here – too shocked from all that had happened on Earth to do nothing but follow orders – but that was years ago.

That numbness is gone. She feels as if so much has been stripped away from her, layers and layers, leaving her raw and exposed. She closes her eyes, and her memory of the day comes flooding back.

_Blood, covering the floor, covering Frieza's feet. Frieza's cruel smile, red irises piercing her as he listens to her report on weapon development. His voice, asking so casually, can she handle his latest project? The torment within her – the desire to say no, she won't do it, she can't do it, it's wrong. Her steely voice, cool and calm, her simple "Yes, Lord Frieza," ringing clear._

_Frieza's laugh as her knees buckle under the pressure of the ship taking off. Her realisation, as she sits in the middle of the throne room in the puddle of bloody vomit spilt by his last victim, that they are leaving Frieza 71 for good._

_The crushing thought that she is nothing but a pawn in this tyrant's game._

She blinks and tears roll silently down her cheeks. She is not the kind to give up and die – she's been through too much shit already to give in now – but she grieves for the innocence she has lost. She is as guilty as any of the soldiers on board, for she will never refuse Frieza's quests. She'll build him his device, just as she built him his guns and his bombs, his murderous tools for the masses that swear allegiance to him. She has chosen her life over others.

Her food has gone cold, and she throws the entire plate in the bin, swinging her legs around and off the bench she's been sitting on as she does so. She gasps as she looks to the door; there is a figure shrouded in the darkness, watching her. She stands frozen as he steps out of the shadows towards her, the handsome face, dark eyes and hair becoming clear.

She recognises him at once. Vegeta, the Saiyan Prince, the boy she watched heal all those years ago, the man she saw beaten and bloodied today. It was his blood that she knelt in as she bowed before Frieza, though he is fully healed now, and stalking towards her. His eyes are narrowed as he looks at her, and she has the distinct feeling that he considers her easy prey.

"You're Frieza's new favourite tech." It is a sneered statement, an accusation. She shifts, standing taller against his scrutiny, and meets his gaze head on, though her heart is thrumming wildly. She is thankful, at least, that they are the same height. She purses her lips and returns his glare as his words register.

_A tech_. She hates being called that. She has a name, though hardly anyone ever bothers to use it. "My name is Bulma," she says, fighting the urge to squirm under his direct gaze.

He snorts derisively, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. "What's your latest project?"

The question surprises her enough that she steps back, stunned for a moment. "That's… that's confidential information," she replies, disliking the sudden look in his eye. In the four years since her abduction she has not once been questioned by a soldier like this. They're not supposed to care about her work.

He takes another step towards her, and she moves back instinctually. Her backside hits the wall behind her; a moment later she is trapped as he braces his arms against the wall on either side of her.

He's close enough that she can smell him, all male and testosterone, and her heart beats faster again. Her eyes focus on his full lips as they pull into a mocking smile. "Perhaps I should beat it out of you?"

"What, like Frieza beat you today?" she bites out, her voice all venom as she does her best to translate fear into anger. He pulls back with a snarl, and though he hides it quickly, she knows she's hit a nerve.

"I have to go," she hisses, and surprisingly, he lets her pass, their shoulders brushing ever so briefly. The contact makes her shiver as she strides quickly across the room, resisting the urge to run. His eyes are on her – she can feel it – and even after she is down the hall and locked inside her room the chill on her spine remains.

She forces herself to take deep breaths, leaning against the inside of the door until the feeling dissipates. When she feels calm enough she pulls her shoulder guard off over her head and drops it on the floor, slipping her white tech robe off a moment after. Fingers shaking, she removes her bra and throws it on the bed, staring at the white underwire as if it is a bomb, or a loaded gun.

With a sigh she sits on the bed and picks up the offending underwear. There is a bulge in the wide elastic band, just beneath the two cups. She lifts the little flap on the pocket she has sewn, and removes the miniature capsule hidden inside. It sits, tiny, within the centre of her palm; a technology that Frieza and his men thankfully never discovered when they razed her home to the ground.

"What's your latest project?" she whispers to herself, quoting the Saiyan.


	9. Chapter 9: Vegeta

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**A/N: **This story is rated M for a reason. Just a warning.

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**Vegeta**

_Year 753_

He wakes with a gasp, the sound of his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. He does his best to calm his breathing, to ease his body back towards sleep, but his dick throbs painfully, and whatever self control he had seems to have disappeared.

He is thankful that the room is empty, for the need for release is at breaking point, and it takes no more than a few jerky movements before he spills himself into a fistful of bedding. With a groan he buries his face in his pillow, trying to shut out the scenes from his dream. Blue eyes seem to stare up at him from beneath his closed eyelids, and his eyes spring open in an attempt to block the image of the tech kneeling before him. _It has been too long_ is the first coherent thought that runs through his head. _It has been far too long, and I need a fuck_.

He's still hard. He stares at the far wall, his mind torn as he replays his talk with _Bulma_. He had not expected the rumoured mastertech to be some pretty little female, had not expected any tech to stand before him like she did, with anger and pride and determination burning in her eyes.

Her scent alone was enough to drive him mad with need.

He snorts in derision at his body's weakness. It's been six months since he's taken a woman to bed, but that's no excuse for lusting after the weakling bitch who refused to bow to his demands and assaulted his pride.

_Blue hair falling around her face… Bright eyes staring as she wraps around him…_

"Fool," he tells himself, banishing the last remnants of the dream, and rolls over.

.

When he wakes in the morning, his mind is clear. He'll find out what exactly the tech is building for Frieza. If it's the devices he's heard rumours about, he'll kill her. In fact, he'll kill her even if her 'confidential' projects turn out to be nothing. Murder is his specialty, after all.

A woman like her is a distraction he doesn't need.

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**A/N:** I didn't plan for this chapter to happen at all. When I write Vegeta my fics tend to go in odd directions, and this is the sort of stuff I end up with. It's Vegeta's fault, I swear!

I've joined the "We're Just Saiyan" community for B/V fans on google+. Mallie-3 and maymayB run it, and they've been producing these wonderful podcasts with guest B/V authors like Catgirl26 and Lady Lan. I'll put the links up on my profile page – you should definitely watch the podcasts! Hopefully I'll get to be on a podcast at some point too :) Lastly, thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it's much appreciated.

I almost forgot - A while back I changed the picture for this story to one that I had drawn. I'm not the best artist, but I wanted to show you guys a picture of what Bulma wears in this fic. It's based off the outfits worn by the doctors in Frieza's army.


	10. Chapter 10: Bulma

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**A/N: **If you're a B/V fan and haven't joined the We're Just Saiyan community yet, definitely check it out! You can find the link to it on my profile. I was lucky enough to be a guest on a podcast the other week; you can find this on youtube through the community :)

Just a warning, there's gory violence in this chapter.

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**Bulma**

_Year 753_

The skin on the nape of her neck prickles. She glances behind her, but there's no one else in the corridor. _You're paranoid_, she tells herself, but her pace quickens regardless. There isn't a single place on this ship where she feels truly safe, but this section is the worst, tucked away in the bowels of the craft on the opposite side from her lab. If she hadn't received a direct order to fix the training equipment stored here she would have never stepped foot on this deck.

She glances behind her once more and her breath catches in her throat – there is a dark shadow of someone thrown against the tiled floor, though their body is hidden by the curve of the corridor walls. Her pulse quickens and sweat breaks out on her palms. She hates this fear, but she knows better than to ignore it.

She can hear their footsteps now, matching hers, growing faster. Another glance confirms her worst nightmare – the soldier following her is a brute, one of the Gripfrobs that are known for their manic ways. She's seen this one before, staring at her with his yellow eyes from across the crowded mess hall. She knows what he's capable of.

"Hey darling," he calls out. His raspy sniggers echo in the corridor, crawling on her skin. She walks faster, ignoring him, eyes searching for any form of escape ahead. His heavy footsteps continue behind her.

She grabs at the chain around her neck, hidden under her neck scarf, and yanks at the small capsule that she has disguised as a simple trinket. After her run-in with the Saiyan she's taken extra precautions to protect herself, and with shaky fingers she twists open the metallic pill, activating the capsulization process. There is a hiss, and a small ki gun of her own design appears in her hands.

The soldier continues to stalk behind her.

There is a side corridor ahead, and she recalls that there is an elevator here. She resists the urge to run until she sees the green light above the elevator door, signifying that the lift is available and waiting.

She breaks into a sprint, darting down the corridor and slamming her hand down hard on the button to open the elevator door. The half second it takes to open is agonizing; as soon as she can fit through the gap she is in and hitting the close button, mashing her fingers against the controls to send the lift to a higher floor. The door hisses and begins to shut, but the Gripfrob's dark red hand appears in the small open space and a scream catches in her throat as she watches him slowly pry the door open with talon-like fingers.

She backs herself into the corner as the Gripfrob steps inside the tiny room, holding the gun out in front of her with both hands. She does her best to look like she means business, but she's trembling. "_Don't_," she says. The gun in her hand clicks and hums quietly, charging a shot. _Fuck_ she thinks, _fuck fuck fuck_. It's taking too long, far too long.

His cracked lips pull back in a mocking smile, revealing rows upon rows of needle-like teeth that glint threateningly. "Girly," he says, taking another step forward, close enough for her to see the individual scales on his maroon skin. "I'm going to have fun with you." His hands fumble at his crotch as he shuffles forward. "Put the toy away, sweetheart."

She pulls the trigger, and the force of the shot slams her hard against the back wall, the gun falling from her hands. The soldier screams and black blood bubbles out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin. He lunges forward, his clawed hands scrabbling at her neck, choking her. She pushes desperately against him, and her hands slip into the wet warm mess where his chest should be. "Bitch," he hisses as he slumps to the ground, claws tearing at the skin on her shoulder as he goes. His pointed teeth gnash together in a silent scream, slowing, slowing, until the movement stills entirely.

His yellow, unseeing stare is haunting in its finality. There is a great red hole in his chest where his armour failed to protect him, and the stink of loosened bowels fills the air. She stares at the mess around her, mouth open and chest heaving from the adrenaline rush.

The room seems to lurch, and the elevator chimes. She looks up and faces another yellow stare, though this time it comes from Zarbon. He looks her up and down, a frown marring his handsome features, and she feels as if she is having an out of body experience. He says her name, though she hardly hears it over the ringing in her ears.

"My God, what have you done?" he asks. The ringing is now a buzz, a swarm of wasps in her head. Zarbon's face swims before her in a pool of green, and then disappears entirely.


	11. Chapter 11: Vegeta

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**A/N: **My apologies for the delayed update; I had real trouble writing this chapter (the working title was 'chapter 11, third attempt') until last night, when it suddenly burst forth in a mad rush!

Many thanks to the lovely **mibi chan** for reading over this for me! If you haven't already, you need to check out her work!

A few chapters ago I changed the picture for this story to something I had drawn... I've changed it again a while back, to something drawn by one of my favourite B/V artists. I think this picture better reflects the angsty nature of this fic.

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**Vegeta**

_Year 753_

He stands before Frieza, Nappa and Raditz flanking him on either side. His fists are balled tightly, his jaw clenched as he endures the many insults thrown his way. The word _monkey_ is enough to make the fur on his tail stand on end. Frieza knows this, and makes the most of the opportunity he has.

Frieza's little speech is cut short by the hiss of the door, and they all turn their heads as Zarbon strides in, half-dragging the mastertech woman – _Bulma_ – behind him. Her white uniform is covered in black blood, and the stench of death fills the air. She glances at him for a moment, her eyes half-wild, her face and hair splattered with gore, before she jerks her head away. He watches, his mind still trying to process what he is seeing, as her expression changes to that of a blank mask. She wrenches her arm out of Zarbon's grip and stands tall, her shoulders back. He hears Raditz snort behind him as she dares to look Frieza in the eye.

He doesn't miss the way that Frieza's tail twitches in agitation. "_What_ is the meaning of this?" the lizard asks, glaring over the woman's head at Zarbon.

"She killed one of the soldiers, sire." Zarbon gestures to the small object in his hand. "With this gu –"

"It's a prototype, Lord Frieza," she interrupts. Her voice is clear and strong, and echoes through the room. The look on Zarbon's face is priceless; one of complete shock. He must think the girl is suicidal. Perhaps she is.

If she wanted the full force of Frieza's glare, she has it. She endures it without speaking, though he notices the way the hand at her side trembles. She looks pale, a sickly white that highlights the black blood on her face. He recognizes the stench of it now – it's that of a Gripfrob. _She's killed one of the soldiers_. He doesn't believe it_._

Frieza's eyes narrow. "Bring me that weapon, Bulma."

She nods once, and takes the tiny gun from Zarbon's hand. Her arm is steady as she steps forward holding the weapon outstretched an unsuspecting lamb for the slaughter. Frieza's tail is around her neck in an instant, the air wheezing out of her as she is lifted from the floor. The gun falls to the ground, rattling noisily against the cold tiles.

The woman's hands grab at the tail for a moment, her legs kicking pathetically. "A soldier is expensive to replace, Bulma," Frieza says, waving one finger at her as if she were a child. "_Naughty _girl_._"

She does nothing but gurgle in reply, and Frieza laughs, his tail suddenly unraveling so that she falls to the floor in a heap. She lies face down, wheezing, and gasping for air, a bent little ball on the floor.

"What improvements need to be made to the gun?" Frieza waits for only a moment before repeating himself, his voice shrieking this time. "_WHAT IMPROVEMENTS NEED TO BE MADE TO THE GUN, YOU PATHETIC CHILD?!_" The woman flinches, her shoulders hunching towards the floor.

"It charges slowly," she croaks, her voice breaking. "It can only fire one shot per ten seconds… not… it's not effective. I can improve the design."

Frieza stares at her for a moment. "_Tch._ Next time you will let me know before you choose to test out your designs. I can organize the subjects. I'm sure the monkeys would make good targets."

He doubts very much that the woman could make anything strong enough to pierce his skin, but she nods pathetically, wheezing out a "Yes, Lord Frieza."

Frieza's eyes turn this way, red irises piercing as they land on him. "Get her out of here." He doesn't need to be told twice; he moves forward swiftly, grabbing at the woman by the back of her dress. She whines and reaches weakly for the gun – he grabs this too and turns, dragging her and he heads for the door. He has no desire for Frieza to put him in a tank again.

Nappa and Raditz follow closely behind. They stride down the hall, past staring techs and into the nearest elevator. He lets go of the woman as the door closes; she stumbles back against the wall, her blue eyes wide.

"Give me my gun." Her voice is hoarse, and she grits her teeth, breathing heavily. Her neck is red and swollen, dark bruises already beginning to form.

He snorts, smirking. If this little debacle of hers has shown him one thing, it's that she's too valuable for Frieza to kill. It's more than enough proof that she is developing the weaponry – the ki-draining technology – that he has suspected.

"Why should I?" he asks, holding the gun between his gloved hands. She flinches as his fingers hover over a small button on the side of the weapon, and he pauses, his lips pulling back in a wolfish grin as he looks at her.

"What?" he asks. "You don't want me to push this? Will it shoot?" He aims the weapon at her wide-eyed face, chuckling. How easy. He could shoot her dead here in the elevator and pretend it was an accident, that her pathetic little gun went off in her hands. Frieza's ki-drainers would never be built, then. "Keep the door closed," he tells Raditz over his shoulder.

She is frozen in shock as he presses down on the button. The entire weapon disappears, and he grunts as a tiny pill drops from between his hands to the floor. He stares at it for a moment, unable to comprehend what just happened.

His eyes meet hers, bright blue like the seas of Xitha 9. They close, her entire body sighing in resignation. When her eyes open again they show nothing but determination. She steps forward, and he is frozen as she encroaches on his personal space _in front of his men_, her chest pressing against his as her head leans forward so that her lips brush at his ear.

"This elevator's bugged," she whispers quietly, "but there's no camera. Frieza doesn't know about the capsule technology. _He can't know_." She pauses, her body trembling against his, her breath feathering across his neck. "I want him dead," she says.

She steps back swiftly, bending to pick up the fallen pill. It sits in the palm of her hand that is still stained with dried blood. She pinches the object between her fingers, twists it, and in an instant her weapon appears in its place, falling into her open hands.

She tucks this down the front of her chest plate, before looking up at Nappa. "Can you press the button for the L-deck?" she asks, a little too loudly.

Nappa looks to him, and all four in the elevator stare at each other in an odd impasse. He nods, once, and Nappa presses the 'L' button. The elevator jumps slightly as it begins to move.

Seconds later the bell chimes, and the woman steps forward. His arm shoots out to grab her around the waist before he even knows what he's doing. He leans forward, until his nose is buried in her long blue hair. "You are going to explain all of this," he hisses in her ear before shoving her out the door.

The door closes behind her, leaving the stench of dead Gripfrob in the air. "Ho-ly _fuck_," Raditz says. He and Nappa would have heard all that she said, and the implication of this is something that he needs to consider.

"Indeed," he replies, staring at the closed door.


End file.
